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The work at the village was long, and hard. The brush and trees were thick, each nearly as stubborn as a grizzled dwarf. With sweat, cursing and a large sharp ax, Chargoth went to work. The villagers moved the piles of brush out of the way and carried carts of rocks and sand as well. Each tree was cut down with a mighty crash, then Chargoth let the villagers have at it with their saws and hand axes, chopping it up and moving it out of the way.

The day was long. It was hard. Chargoth helped the Villagers lay down a bed of sand and gravel, then a course topping of hard stones for carts and horses to walk on. The trees were cut back to a canopy that hung over the road. It was a lot of work. Laying down wood slats in the road. It was hard work shoveling piles of broken stone over the road.

All day, they worked like that, and into the night as well. Each time the villagers came to make Chargoth take a break, He waved them off. “The sooner it's done, the sooner we ain't gotta do it no damn more.” He'd tell them. It was close to midnight, and by firelight no less when they finished the work. Now the road wasn't done by even a quarter of the way. But Chargoth and the villagers cleared out the lane. They removed the logs and stumps from it's path. They'd also shored up the beginning of the road in their village and laid down a firm bed of rock. Chargoth had gathered huge pile of sand and gravel. Now the people of the villagers could finish the road on their own. The framework of the road was there all they needed to do was complete it on their own.

The Villagers gave Chargoth some fish stew once they had finished. He ate it, and seconds with out complaint. Only a passing remark about how he hated the taste of fish. (of course he was eating the fish at that time.) And they gave him a strong apple cider, culled from crab apples and spice that was both sour and butter. It went well with the fish.

When Chargoth finally nodded off, it was at end of the road. He laid down at the foot of a tree, in full armor. He pulled his shield over top of him for warmth. His muscles hurt. He hadn't done any proper work since he was at Harrison's pass. Even then it was few and far between. It gave a man a different kind of feeling that constant fighting and walking. It gave a man kind of warmth in their belly at having built something. At having added to the tapestry of the world. It gave a man an anchor in a world that seemed to change as rapidly as a butterfly in the wind.

As he dreamed he had his normal nightmares. Not enough to wake to sleeping dwarf. It took more than dreams to rouse a dwarf. But enough to remind him who he was. He dreamed of his two weeks of solitude deep in Harrison's Pass. He dreamed that as he held the gates, no one came for him. He was left alone to to hold the door and no one came. He also had nightmares about the endless walking in the wastes.

Part of Chargoth felt sadness. He knew that had abandoned the gates. He should have stayed. He should have died holding back the doors. But he had to help the other Guardsmen to safety. Who else was there? He had abandoned his sacred duty at the gates of the pass. True the world had changed. True that the lives others depended on him. True Garow had sent word of orders to come to this new place. But some where in Chargoth's heart was the angush that he should have died there on the wall. Then again, part of him might find happiness protecting the Phoenix, and the villagers now.

You wouldn't know how troubled the dwarf's dreams were by looking at him. You might only notice his one open eye, or maybe you'd notice his thunderous snoring. And what dwarf doesn't mumble in their sleep?

*Every time the dwarf mouths off at one of the villagers, Kidwynn scowls at him and her anger seems to be building. She moves trees, dirt, whatever else is necessary in order to get the road completed. Once the road has been built, she talks to a few of the people from the village and wonders off on her own.*

Dallid, on the other hand, performed no manual labor. He’d make no contribution toward the creation of a dead stripe through the living wilderness. However, he focused his attention at minimizing the damaged caused by the construction. He spent most of the day beside Kidwynn, guiding her engineering efforts more toward preservation than efficiency. He’d request the road be diverted around encountered concentrations of growth and advocated it be kept as narrow as possible, arguing traffic would be one-way only – fishermen going to the lake in the morning and returning to the village in the evening. Where embankments or bridges proved necessary, he urged for trees that had been cut earlier be dragged to the site to provide the required wood, rather then felling more conveniently located trees.

Should his suggestions be honored, the road would be quite a bit longer, windier, narrower, and less convenient than otherwise. Dallid hoped the villagers understood, but cared little if they didn’t. He would do all he could for Phantara now. Should the people of this village choose not to accommodate him in the future, so be it – that was their decision to make.

When work ended in the evening, Dallid made the trek back to Haven.

When Chargoth awoke from his sleep, he was a little sore, but for the most part he was fine. He got to his short little legs, and his armor creaked. Shield in hand, it was a long journey from the fishing village back to haven. Hopefully it would be comparatively easy for him to get back.

Axe and shield in hand, Chargoth started out at a forced march. He grumbled to himself the entire way. He wasn't really much for hiking. And of course that included really kind of walking. But he did as he was told. Well, at least as he was told by those officers in the Phoenix Guard who could give him orders. The rest of the time he did what ever he felt like.

And with that he was headed back to the Haven.